


find me under the stars

by sunkissedstar



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, Foster Care, Gen, Late at Night, M/M, Protectiveness, Sneaking Out, crutchie should be in charge, jack is in charge and he's really bad at it, medda still trusts him and god knows why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkissedstar/pseuds/sunkissedstar
Summary: Jack was pacing, but that wasn’t a problem. Medda was on a business trip and he was in charge of his brothers, but that wasn't a problem either. Race was gone, but that wasn’t a problem in and of itself.The problem was that it was 3:53 in the morning, Medda was on a business trip, Race was gone, and Jack was supposed to be in charge of making sure he didn’t die. That was where the problem came in.~Medda is out of town and leaves Jack in charge. He doesn't handle his responsibility very well, and may or may not lose one of his brothers less than twelve hours in.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	find me under the stars

**Author's Note:**

> yeah it's another one of these ones where medda adopts jack, crutchie, and race, but this time jack is the one that has 2 be mature and he's not doing a very good job
> 
> enjoy!! :)

Jack was pacing, but that wasn’t a problem. Medda was on a business trip and he was in charge of his brothers, but that wasn't a problem either. Race was gone, but that wasn’t a problem in and of itself. 

The problem was that it was 3:53 in the morning, Medda was on a business trip, Race was gone, and Jack was supposed to be in charge of making sure he didn’t die. That was where the problem came in. 

His phone went to voicemail for what felt like the hundredth time, and Race’s squeaky voice picked up, which had been recorded when Race was twelve and his voice still cracked on every other word.

 _“Hi! This is Tony, unless you’re my doctor or my teacher, and in that case this is Oscar Delancey,”_ Race’s nasally, pre-teen self said. _“If you’re tryin’ to call me, you should just text me instead, but I’ll probably call you back anyway. Okay, bye.”_

The voicemail cut out with some laughter that sounded like it came from twelve-year-old Albert’s end. Jack sighed and flung himself down on the couch. With one bleary eye cracked open, he scrolled through his recent calls. That was the seventh time he’d called Race’s number and heard that stupid voicemail.

He kept his eyes on the clock, watching as it slowly ticked past 4:00 a.m. In a brief moment of desperation, he considered calling Medda or waking Crutchie up, who was asleep in his room, but what would they do? Medda couldn’t come home early on a whim just because Race was out past curfew, and all Crutchie could do was double the amount of missed calls Jack was leaving on Race’s phone. 

Finally, when the time on Jack’s phone flashed from _4:05_ to _4:06_ and he was about three minutes away from calling the police on a missing teenager, the front door opened and a piece of the night slipped inside.

Jack flew up from the couch so fast his knees buckled. As he regained his balance, he reached across the coffee table and fumbled with a lamp until the room lit up. He met Race’s wide eyes, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hey, Racer,” Jack said pleasantly, because that’s how you made conversation at four in the morning. “How’re you doin’?”

“Not much better now that I’m lookin’ at your face,” Race said, kicking his Vans off in the general direction of the shoe basket. 

“Funny,” Jack said, forcing a grin so stiff his face would get stuck like that. “I was just wonderin’, because it’s kinda weird that we’re meetin’ here, right now.” He huffed a silent breath of laughter and grabbed his phone from the couch. He held the screen up to Race like evidence in a court case. “Especially since it’s _four in the fuckin’ morning_.”

His tone jumped from casual to scarily furious on a dime, and Race tensed up like a wound-up puppet. 

“Actually, it’s 4:06 in the fuckin’ morning,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Funny,” Jack said again, except this time, nothing in his tone hinted that he found it remotely funny. If possible, Race’s tensed up even more, shoulders raising all the way to his ears. 

“Leave me alone.”  
  
“Nah, I’m good,” Jack said. He grabbed Race’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, squinting at his glassy, dazed eyes. “Are you high? Drunk?”  
  
“ _No,”_ Race said, sounding affronted. 

“Well, what else do teenagers do when they’re out gettin’ into dumb shit with their friends?” Jack demanded. “C’mon, Anthony, tell me where you were. It ain’t like you or me haven’t gotten high before.”

“None of your business!” Race snapped, in typical teenage fashion. “You’re not my mom.” He spun around and marched down the hallway, looking for all the world like a man (or, well, a boy) with murder on his mind. 

“It kind of is my business,” Jack said, not going after him. Instead, he sat back on the couch and crossed his arms and waited. He knew Race better than anyone, and he especially knew that he’d never leave a fight without having the last word. “Medda left me in charge, and _she’s_ the mom. I’m sure she’d love to know why her kid was out at four in the fuckin’ morning.”

“Yeah, that’s why you ain’t gonna tell her!” Race shot back over his shoulder. “Stop actin’ like you’re my boss. I’m not gonna listen to shit you say! You’re only two years older, so shut the hell _up_!”

Jack wondered if Katherine would be willing to bail him out of jail for murdering his little brother.

“Y’know, I can play the stubborn card too,” he called. He could hear Race’s footsteps stop in the hallway. “You’re just better at gettin’ away with it ‘cause you’re a dumb fifteen-year-old with half a braincell.”

There was a half-second pause where Jack thought, for a split second, that Race had given up and slipped into his room. Then, the footsteps resumed and drew closer to the living room. Race reappeared in the doorway, leaning against the wall with one hand to keep himself up. Jack could see the bags under his eyes from the couch across the room. He was exhausted.

 _I wonder why,_ Jack thought wryly, resisting the urge to look at the clock again when he’d mentioned it enough that anyone in a five-mile radius knew what time it was.

“I don’t get why it’s such a big deal,” Race said. “You stay up this late all the fuckin’ time!”

“Yeah, in my room, sometimes high on paint fumes,” Jack said in a voice that even he knew was annoyingly calm and unperturbed. “Listen, I’m not gonna pretend I’m a ‘responsible adult.’ I’m an idiot, Racer, I’m not much better than you. If you were out gettin’ drunk or whatever, I’m not one to judge; we’ve all been there. But when I’m up at fuckin’ ungodly hours, at least I’m in the house...”

“Not my fault you don’t have a social life.”

“Pretending I didn’t hear that,” Jack said loudly, ignoring him. Race’s lips twitched in what could have been a smile. “Point is, when Medda leaves me in charge of keepin’ your dumbass alive, that’s when I start carin’ where you are in the middle of the night.”

Race rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He was looking more like a middle school girl by the second. “You’re seventeen,” he said. “Did you really expect me not to sneak out when Medda left _you_ in charge?”  
  
“Ouch,” Jack muttered. “I’m not gonna say I didn’t see it comin’, kid, but you have to tell me where you were or else Medda’s gonna have a field day hearin’ about this when she gets home.”  
  
“Wh…”

Jack cut him off before Race even opened his mouth to protest. “How else am I supposed to bail you outta jail for whatever the fuck you did if I don’t even know what happened?”  
  
The corners of Race’s mouth turned up again. “I…” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his head so his curls stood on end. The anger was slowly evaporating on his face, replaced with a tired expression that told Jack he desperately just needed to climb in bed.

He visibly gave up, shoulders slumping as the weight of the argument fell off his shoulders. 

“I was with Albert.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “Albert DaSilva?”  
  
“No, Albert Einstein,” Race said sarcastically. “ _Yes_ , dumbass, Albert DaSilva. We were on a date, okay?”  
  
Jack had a lot of questions, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he thought of something to say; the first thing to come out of his mouth was, “Who decides to go on a date in the middle of the night?”

Race rolled his eyes. “Albie’s a nerd and he’s really into astrology,” he explained. “He just got his license when he turned sixteen last week, so he drove us out to that field an hour from the house in his brother’s pickup truck. We laid out blankets an’ shit and did the sappy couple stuff where we looked at the stars.”

Jack sighed. Of all the things he’d expect a fifteen-year-old to do when he snuck out of the house, laying on a blanket with his boyfriend and _looking at stars_ definitely wasn’t on top of the list.

“Okay, you big dork, come here,” Jack said, opening his arms. For once, Race didn’t even think to protest. He collapsed into Jack’s chest and let him hold the back of his head. The bags under his eyes were even heavier now that he was so close.

“I’m just so... I dunno,” Race muttered against Jack’s shirt. He curled his fingers around the fabric, pressing his clenched fists against Jack’s back like he was trying to get closer. “Kinda wanna cry, don’t know why. Also wanna pass out for three days.” He laughed wetly, the sound vibrating in Jack’s chest. “Don’t ever say I don’t tell you shit, Jack.”

“That’s called sleep deprivation,” Jack said wisely. “I know it well. It’s fuckin’ late, in case I didn’t mention it twelve times already, and you’ve had a… long day, I guess.” He pulled away to point a finger at Race’s nose, making him go cross-eyed trying to follow it. “You’re gonna go to bed, and me, you, and Crutchie will go out for pancakes tomorrow, ‘cause I don’t know shit about cooking.”

“I know shit about cooking.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna be trippin’ over yourself to stay awake and I’m not lettin’ you use a stove. That sound good? You can sleep in as late as ya need, there’s a thousand places around here that sell breakfast all day.”

He elected a small smile out of Race, who discreetly wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the sweatshirt that fell over his hands. Jack was pretty sure Race had stolen in from his closet, but he didn’t mention it.

“Okay,” Race said.

“Okay.” Jack ran his hands over Race’s arms, if only to assure himself of his presence after that brief, three-hour panic where he’d been convinced his little brother was dead in a ditch. “Sure there’s nothin’ else?”  
  
Race nodded against his chest. “I had fun,” he said. “I’m not sorry I did it, just sorry I got caught.”  
  
Jack huffed out a laugh; there was a note of relief in his tone, the tension in the room settling like a thick cloud disappearing after the rain. “What does _fun_ mean?”

“... Jackass.”

Jack sighed. “Did you have sex in the back of a pickup truck?”

He could see a dirty joke on the tip of Race’s tongue, but the kid glanced between Jack’s exhausted expression and the clock on the wall (4:27, it helpfully reminded them) and must have decided it wasn’t a great time. 

“No,” he said, poking Jack in the chest. “Albert’s ace.”

“I know, I’m just messin’ with you, buddy,” Jack said. “And I’m glad, by the way. I don’t think Medda would be happy if she found out you were off doin’ it wi...”

Jack finished his sentence with a huff of laughter as Race punched him in the chest again. 

“Yeah, so don’t tell her,” Race said. “...You’re not gonna tell her, are ya?”

“That you were out on a date? Nah,” Jack said. Race’s sigh of relief swept over the room. “That you were on said date at four a.m.? Dunno, jury’s still out. Depends if you’re payin’ for breakfast tomorrow.”

Race stuck out his tongue. “Not for yours.”

Jack grinned and looped an arm around his shoulders, dragging him down the hallway towards his room. Race was stumbling and tripping over his own two feet to keep himself up, smiling tiredly up at Jack’s expression of welcome relief. Crutchie was snoring in his and Race’s shared room, arm flung over the side of the bed. The moon shone through the crack in the open window, preparing for the sun to rise in the early hours of the morning. For once in Jack’s life, with his brother tucked under his arm and the dark of the night pulling his eyes shut for some much-needed sleep, everything was fine.

**Author's Note:**

> i vote Crutchie for president bc he's literally just vibing in bed. he's the youngest but he should be in charge thx for coming 2 my ted talk
> 
> i hope everyone is staying safe, black lives matter and ACAB, bring water, masks, and tennis shoes to protests and riots. gays, tomorrow is pride month and we ride at dawn
> 
> love u all!!


End file.
